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Fernando: I'm sorry, pequeño. Tyson will be taking you home today. Nothing more than a small hold up. Have dinner ready for when I get there.
My dad's message almost matches his except for the end I evidently missed the first time I skimmed it.
Dad:Tyson will be bringing you by the house before he takes you to your apartment. We have a lot to discuss.
My teeth press so tightly together I think they're going to crack. A knock sounds at the door. Unable to pull my eyes from the screen, I shout for them to come in.
“Excuse me, sir, but your ride is here. Tyson is waiting out front,” one of my bartenders says.
“Gracias, I'll be there in a few minutes. Just need to lock up.”
Nodding, he disappears back down the hall and I walk out not far behind him, locking my office door. The song playing in the club has my chest tightening and I walk faster toward the exit to escape it. The lyrics and music pound in my ears blurring my vision. Stop. Stop. Stop.
Ignoring someone calling me from a distance, I shove open the front door, practically spilling outside into the welcoming night. My heart races and I bend forward, pressing my hands on my knees, breathing the best I can. The doors fully shut and the song my sister and I used to dance to is gone, replaced with the ongoing traffic and loud speaking voices. It was the same song she played while she tried to kill me, and the images of the hatchet cutting into my skin make me shudder.
When I finally glance up from the ground, I sigh in relief at the sight of the black car. I straighten my posture and slowly walk toward the back, opening the door. As I'm about to climb in, I pause when the man in the driver's seat comes into full view. He's not Tyson or anyone I've ever met before. Tyson isn't anywhere to be seen. I step back, reaching for my gun, and someone shoves me inside, causing me to lose my handle on the grip.
Arms reach for me as I try to escape and the door is closed on my kicking feet. “Stop moving or this will be worse for you,” a familiar voice says. I glance in the passenger seat and it's one of the men from the ambulance in Mexico.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. I crawled out of one nightmare and ran right into another. “You don't want to do this,” I say, reaching for my gun again, and another is shoved to my head, forcing me to drop it.
“Oh, but we do,” the driver says. “Make him stop talking, Reno. He's as insufferable as the doc said he was.”
Before I can say anything else, a needle is jammed in my neck and the guy talking is no longer making any sense. His voice comes in and out. Everything shakes around me. My head spins and the bright lights of the cars driving in the opposite lane slowly fade away before everything goes dark.
I slowly open my eyes, and it feels as if rocks are being tossed around inside my head. The clearing of my vision makes it easier to take in my surroundings. I'm inside a mostly empty, run-down warehouse. I shout to anyone who might be hiding in the room but no one answers, my voice echoing around me the more I call out. “Hello?”
Am I alone? Or do they only want me to believe I am? Nausea curls up inside me from the drugs I was injected with. Swallowing down the bile crawling up my throat, I try to bend forward but my limbs are tied to the chair I'm sitting in. Staring down at my feet, they didn’t only leave my shoes on, but they my clothes alone as well. I continue to look around me, and I freeze as a familiar hatchet rests on the floor two feet away.
My throat thickens. My next breaths are shallow and difficult to let out. Fernando said he would bury it somewhere far away and they found it anyway. Closing my eyes, I take in a deep breath and open them again. It's still there and it's almost as if it's laughing at me. There it sits, free, while I'm being held prisoner, forced to watch the way the lights above shine over its sharp edges.
Pressing my feet to the ground, I try to wiggle the chair closer to the weapon. Moving forward is a lot harder than I hoped it would be with my limbs strapped to the chair's front legs. Dragging myself as far as I can while rocking forward, my best efforts land me a few inches forward and as I'm wiggling my arms again I realize I'm still wearing my prosthetic.
Hope sparks inside me as I manage to slide my arm out of the socket enough to reach the knife strapped to my prosthetic. They took my gun and the knife from my belt but didn't check me anywhere else. Fucking amateurs. Pressing the blade to the rope, I cut my wrists free. The rope falls to the floor and I bend over to reach my ankles while shoving my prosthetic back on my residual limb.
The loud sound of a metal door opening has me cutting through the second rope quicker. I crash to the floor the first time I attempt to stand up and crawl forward, reaching out for the hatchet. Sliding my knife back in my pocket, I position myself on my knees and lean on the chair to pull myself to my feet again. Swaying from side to side, I grip the top of the chair and sit back down. The ropes from the floor wrap loosely around my legs and I hold the other strand behind my back after tucking the hatchet under my ass.
The man who drove me here walks into the room. “You're awake. Good.”
“Where's Tyson?” I ask.
The man laughs, running a hand through his greasy hair. “In a safe place. Don't worry, his heart and liver will soon be going to someone way more deserving, along with yours.”
“What's taking you so long then,” I spit at him. I need him closer and based on the way he's looking me up and down, he's eager to be in my space.
Kneeling to the ground, he presses his hands on my knees, staring up at me. “Our surgeon won't be here until tomorrow morning, and we still need to wait for your boyfriend to get here. That's if Daddy doesn't kill him first, and then we'll just take from him instead.”
They told him. It's what my dad wanted to talk to me about. I'm not sure which is the worst place to be. Here or in my dad's office where all his guns are.
“Fuck you,” I shout, waiting for the perfect moment to make my move.
“If that's what you want, we might be able to have that arranged. I doubt anyone would care if I were to bend you over and fuck you right here until you scream in pain. They'll assume it’s only being done for torture purposes and out of vengeance for killing my brother. Not for the same reason you and your lover keep meeting in secret.”
“Sure they will. What about all the other men who've been where I am with only you in the room? Did they all kill your brother too or do you see them as a way to scratch that itch of yours?”
He slaps my face hard and I grit my teeth, the taste of copper strong on my tongue. He wraps his fingers around my neck and then his tongue laps at my throbbing cheek. “I wonder if you're sweet everywhere. Only one way to find out.”
He slides his hand between my legs but before he can reach my cock, I knee him in the stomach. Falling to the ground, he curses under his breath, anger burning in his eyes. “You little shit.”
